A 5-Carrot Ring
by RomanaOrFred
Summary: Carrot proposes to Angua in the worst way possible. Cheery, being a dwarf born and bread, steps in to clean up the mess.
1. Chapter 1

AN: Footnotes are in italic full-sized numbers, which link to the bit right at the bottom with the corresponding numbers. Sorry, I'm rubbish at footnotes.

* * *

Angua was in the Pseudopolis Yard Watch House. More specifically, in the lunch room. So was Carrot_1_. In fact, he was kneeling in front of her. Well, one leg was kneeling. And in his hand was something small and shiny.

It wasn't the first proposal the lunch room had seen, technically, although most people didn't count the time Nobby had proposed to his dessert. They assumed, incorrectly, that it had been a joke. But then, the custard had been _very_ good, although the ring he had produced (nobody wanted to ask exactly where it had been produced from) had been a bit of a surprise.

Carrot knelt there, in front of her, breastplate gleaming. A hopeful smile was on his face as he said the words. "Angua, will you marry me?". She stared. She continued staring. So did everyone else in the room, because it wasn't often you got dinner entertainment in the Watch House. Or at least, not anything more sophisticated than a chase involving a rogue goat, or one of Detritus's comedy routines which involved hitting himself over the head with his club. Sometimes he missed and hit someone else, and then things got really Interesting.

"Why?" she asked, finally managing to speak.

"Well. It makes sense."

"It… makes sense?" she responded. The tension in the room could have been cut with a knife, even one of those blunt ones in the Watch House kitchen. There was a roomful of onlookers, and even Sergeant Colon had paused in his complaints about the Youth of Today. A lot of the diners had turned their seats around to watch, and one had pulled out a pair of opera glasses to see what was happening.

"Well, yes. It makes sense," said Carrot. "We have a lot in common. We've been, um, together, for a year now. That's normally about the time people get married. It makes sense."

The looks of horror on some of the Watchmen's faces at this were almost comical. Even the least femininely-inclined among them winced a little. There was a faint rhythmic thudding sound from the corner where Cheery Littlebottom was sitting, as she repeatedly knocked her head against the table in exasperation_2_.

"You want to marry me… because it makes sense." Said Angua. Her voice carried a dangerous calm. "You are proposing to me in the lunch room of the place I work. Because it makes sense."

"Yes?" said Carrot in a tone of genuine bemusement. For anyone else in the Watch, there would have been catcalling, jokes, and probably a rogue pie aimed at the face, but Angua had instilled a respect_3_ in her colleagues. There was silence. You could have heard a crumb drop.

Then, without a word, Angua turned on her heel and marched away from Carrot and out of the door to the canteen. Even after she had left, nobody moved or talked. Carrot's face was blankly inscrutable. One of the newer watchmen sniggered, which in the silence was remarkably loud. His neighbour, a more experienced watchman, elbowed him hard in the face.

After a few seconds, Carrot began to slowly get to his feet. He looked around at the gathered watchmen_4_ and, more slowly and, like Angua, walked out of the door. The silence lasted a good three seconds after his exit before it was brutally massacred by a barrage of gossip about the proposal.

Cheery Littlebottom had finally managed to stop banging her head in exasperation, and slid off her chair_5_ before trotting out, unnoticed, after Carrot.

She walked out of the room, into the corridor beyond, and towards the door leading to the street outside. Beyond it, Carrot was sitting on the steps down to the road, his head in his hands. Angua was nowhere in sight.

She sat down beside him.

"I did it wrong, didn't I?" he said, head still in his hands.

Cheery tried to find a tactful way to respond. Tact was not a typical dwarf trait. When a mine roof was about to collapse on your head, you didn't want someone to start the conversation with "So, I hear this area of the mine's a bit risky of late.' You wanted people who were fully willing to run past you screaming 'BLOODY ROOF'S FALLING, RUN'.

But she tried. "It wasn't… it wasn't as bad as Nobby's proposal to his pudding."

Carrot lifted his head to stare at her. "What did I do wrong?"

"Um." Said Cheery. She was used to forensic analysis. Forensic analysis didn't care if you spoke bluntly. "It was… sort of… um…" she struggled for a while. "You know how it is when you're on a case and you try not to get emotionally involved. Old Mrs. Hobbler tells you a story about the man who came and set her house on fire and you get all involved and sympathetic and then it turns out she accidentally left the cooker on and didn't want to admit it?"

Carrot nodded, unsure of where this was going_6_.

"Well after that you learn you shouldn't involve your feelings in the case. You should just say what's there, what makes sense and what you know for absolutely certain. No feelings.

"Well, you really, really, really, really_7_ shouldn't do this with proposals. You said to her 'look, it makes sense'. It's a relationship, there are MEANT to be feelings involved. You don't want to say 'I like you because you're convenient', you want to say, 'I like that you're in my life! I want you to be more of a presence in my life than Foul Ole Ron's smell is in his! That's how all-pervading I want you to be in my life!' You want to say 'I love you!'"

Carrot frowned. "But I've already told her I love her."

Cheery sighed. She thought maybe she should have carried on with her head banging for a bit longer. It would have been good to have some pre-emptive head banging stored away for this conversation.

"Tell her again. Tell her lots. Tell her when you think it. Say it out of the blue, drop it in the middle of the conversation, leave her notes saying it."

"But… why?" Carrot asked. "Isn't it obvious?"

"When you say you want to marry her while you're at work, because it makes sense? Emotions aren't meant to make sense!" Cheery said. "Listen, I have to go back to work now. The corpse in there won't wait forever. But, I'll tell you what, I'll meet you at The Bucket_8_ tonight, at seven, and I'll try and talk you through it all."

Carrot thanked her and looked incredibly grateful. He unfolded himself and, alongside Cheery (well, more diagonally upwards from Cheery, given the height difference) they walked back inside.

* * *

1 The man, not the vegetable. No vegetable would ever set foot* in the lunch room of a Watch House. Watchmen may not have many boundaries, but that was definitely one of them.

*or root, or, knowing the vegetables which sprouted up around the University, tentacle

2 In dwarfish, where a lot of communication is shown through hitting the head against objects to show, among other things, appreciation, annoyance, anger, hungriness or drunkenness, the helmet is not just an accessory but a vital piece of equipment for anyone wishing to navigate the dwarfen culture and come out the other side with a brain cell left intact.

3 read: absolute, unquestioning terror

4 The debate about the collective noun for a group of watchmen continues. An amble of watchmen and a parade of watchmen were superseded by the much more accurate a running-away-screaming of watchmen inspired during the earlier days of the watch.

5 Being a dwarf, there was an entire sport involving sliding off chairs. The higher the chair, the further the distance to the ground, and consequently the greater the danger. Those dwarfs who slid off the highest chairs earned the most respect. Those caught cheating by adding springs to their shoes were sneered down upon, and Ankh-Morpork's bars had begun putting steadily higher bar stalls in place to attract young dwarfs.

6 It is worth noting that at this point in writing, I, the author, also have no idea where this is going.

7 Really really REALLY REALLY REALLY

8 The pub favoured by the Watchmen, and also well-meaning pun enthusiasts, who came to attack the outer wall of the pub in order to tell someone that they had kicked the Bucket.


	2. Chapter 2

It was so damn _hard_ to get a second date when the phrase 'wolfed down her food' could be applied all too literally to the first one, Angua reflected.

The dating scene had never been much fun for werewolves. There would be the kind of people who found out and ran a mile_1_, and she could handle those. But what was worse were the people who found out and turned up at the date with a studded collar and a bag of dog biscuits, making jokes about doggy-style. The best cure for those kinds of people, Angua had found, was a good roundhouse kick_2_, followed by carefully relieving them of their dog biscuits. PLT struck at the worst times sometimes.

People in Ankh-Morpork were tough though. Of course, people in Uberwald were tough too. The living had to be, to survive with so many undead around_3_. Of course, many of them imbibed vast quantities of suspicious alcohol to deal with life in Uberwald. Not, as you might think, because of the constant risk of having their blood drained, but because the vampires there dressed so snappily that the self-esteem of those nearby plummeted. This had led to more than one incident involving someone yelling 'I give up!' and running, naked, down the street. In some towns an evening wouldn't be complete without a man turning up naked at a bar and ordering a beer and a pair of trousers. While vampires supposedly have a natural tendency towards scantily-clad women, this apparently doesn't extend to middle-aged shoemakers with a distrustful attitude towards bathing.

But Morporkians were a different kind of tough. The kind of tough that welcomed danger into its folds, provided danger was willing to pay extortionate prices for cheap souvenirs.

Angua reached the front door to Mrs. Cake's residence, which had been left open for her. On the table just inside were a pack of dog biscuits with a note saying 'sorry about the proposal – Mrs. Cake'. The advantages of living with a kind clairvoyant were limitless.

She trudged up to her room, sprawling on the bed_4_.

It had _made sense_. Proposing to her had made sense. No big speech, not even an 'I love you', just a simple, undeniable fact.

It would have made sense for her to accept, she knew that. But with Carrot it was all so factual. Maybe in a few years he'd want to have children, because that was what you were supposed to do. She wasn't sure she could do that. She'd heard stories, rumours, of werewolves and humans and their offspring. There were no children. Only pups. She couldn't do that to him.

She wondered idly whether he had wanted to marry her. Had he simply been counting down the days until the average couple got married, and proposed to her then?

She shook her head_5_. Thinking like that wasn't going to get her anywhere. He had proposed to her. He wouldn't have done that if he hadn't wanted to marry her.

Maybe she should have accepted. He was nice, he was kind, he treated her well, even at That Time Of The Month when her main forms of affection were licking and peeing. Although with the number of squeaky toys she had lying around in the bedroom, some of them had developed _other_ uses.

The younger dwarfs had begun to describe 'hip' people as 'street'. Carrot was more 'country lane' than 'street' (with maybe a bit of 'pavement' mixed in), but he got on with people. All kinds of people. Once she had come back to find him having dinner with priests from twelve different religions, and nobody was smiting _anybody_. There was a bit of disagreement over which kind of tea to have, but nobody condemned anybody else to a screaming eternity of being vomited on by small children while listening to the sound of nails on a chalkboard_6_.

He got on with _everyone_, and when part of you was a territorial pack animal whose relationship could be ruined by marking what you saw as 'your territory' in the normal way, things got difficult.

Angua wondered what Carrot was doing now. She couldn't imagine him being distraught at her lack of response. Most likely he had got on with his job.

She curled up and tried to sleep.

* * *

The table was covered in paper. This was, Cheery decided, a good thing. There were notes, pictures of Angua, blueprints and schematics, and, for some reason, an incredibly detailed drawing of a duck. It may have been suffering from some kind of mallard-y, Cheery thought. Given how much beer she and Carrot were getting through, it was probably good to have a bird with experience with bills nearby.

Proposals had to be done RIGHT. Carrot hadn't even tried to plan it around _that time of the month_ for Angua, and it was sheer luck that he had avoided the PLT. Not much thought seemed to have gone into it, apart from the ring. The diamond in it, Carrot had made sure, had come from an Uberwaldean diamond mine near Angua's home. The gold was from his own mine. It was studded with tiny moonstones around the band. Cheery had to admit, that was a _very_ nice touch.

When they had arrived at The Bucket, without any niceties, she had grabbed Carrot by the shoulders_7_ and said to him "Why" _shake_ "would"_ shake _ "you"_ shake _ "propose" _shake _ "at" _shake_ "work?!".

He had looked startled by this. "Well," he said. "She was there. I was there. We met there. Work's important."

"But it was so… impersonal," said Cheery.

"Where would you suggest I propose?" asked Carrot with a look of bemusement.

"Where have you two gone on dates? Where was your first one? Or your most memorable one?" Cheery asked.

"I took her to the dwarf bread museum" said Carrot.

Cheery tilted her head back and, staring at the ceiling, prayed for mercy from any god who would listen_8_.

"You took her to the dwarf bread museum" she repeated, eyes closed.

"I also took her on a walk along Amper Sands, you know, by the Ankh," Carrot said, desperately trying to redeem himself.

"Right. Okay, we can work with that. Nice river walk, probably the least fragrant section of the river. Quiet. Well done. So, you go down to Amper Sands," she said, pointing with her pencil at the map spread across half the table.

"When?"

"I don't know, when do you want to propose?!" Cheery said. "Sometime in the evening. Not around full moon time."

The conversation went on like this for three more hours, Cheery's exasperation reaching maximum levels by the end of it. Six beers later, and much quaffing, and she was nearly in tears.

But they had a plan.

* * *

1 Well, not a mile. Nobody in Ankh-Morpork was keen enough on exercise for that. They ran a few yards, found a nice bar and started the quaffing.

2 In Ankh-Morpork, the phrase 'roundhouse kick' could mean either a painful connection between a foot and, most commonly, some Very Sensitive Regions, or, confusingly, a kind of cocktail containing scumble. Many a new barman would become confused when asked for a Roundhouse Kick and shortly afterwards may find themselves with a serious shortage of usable or connected limbs courtesy of the clientele.

3 The Uberwaldeans are a people with a natural tendency, bred through generations, to barricade doors and windows at night. Some undoubtedly well-meaning scientists from Ankh-Morpork had taken them out of their natural habitat and been amazed as they set up a barricade in the laboratory, in spite of no imminent danger, from a lab table, a large number of bottled specimens and one petri dish balanced neatly on top. Although the scientist could probably have dismantled the barricade, that would have involved hard physical labour, which was To Be Avoided At All Costs. They lived out the remainder of their days in that laboratory, and years later their notes were uncovered by curious archaeologists.

4 Any dog owner will know the so-called 'dog sprawl', the ability to take up a whole bed, including firmly planting their rear end on the face of anyone lying on it, before farting profusely onto the aforementioned face with an innocent expression. As a werewolf, Angua had mastered this in early childhood, farting included.

5 Again, dog owners will be familiar with the kind of shaking. That kind of shaking which dogs do when they come into the house, sopping wet, and need to get dry as near to the curtains as possible.

6 Some religions in Ankh-Morpork had a very _specific_ idea of hell, for instance, 'being stuck on a coach next to a man partial to beans for ever more'.

7 She had had to wait until he had sat down for this, and then stood on a chair herself. But it was for the _drama_ so it was _important_.

8 Unfortunately, at this time the gods were all arguing over who had the best hair and were happily oblivious to the world of mortals. A sudden rain of hair gel over the Circle Sea as a consequence of this argument went unnoticed except for by a very startled and, a moment later, very sticky fish.


	3. Chapter 3

A knock at the door awoke Angua from her sleep. It was late. The only people in Ankh-Morpork who would be knocking on her door this late were religious, or wanted to kill her. Sometimes both. She hoped it wasn't someone who wanted to kill her. It was so inconvenient getting rid of bodies at this time of night.

She got up slowly, hoping whoever was at the door would go away. They didn't. Angua had noticed that people tended to become more insistent at night, as though the darkness would somehow hide the unforgivable horror of being dragged out of bed. They were Wrong, with a capital W. The only thing which would make Angua forgive someone waking her at night was a good-quality, freshly-baked chicken pie and a scratch behind the ears.

She opened the door to Carrot, who was carrying a good-quality, freshly-baked chicken pie.

"Hello," said Carrot. He smiled apprehensively. "I was sort of wondering if we could forget earlier."

Angua was well aware of how messy her hair must be. And the phrase 'dog-tired' sprang to mind. She managed a nod, then, without further ado, closed the door. It was only upon doing this that Angua realised that, in closing the door, she had locked the pie out.

Not wanting to reopen the door, she managed to engage a few of her nocturnal brain cells, which sighed in protest. She walked over to a cupboard, grabbed a plate, and put it just in front of the door.

A few seconds later, a pie slid through the letter-box and fell with a faint 'splat' onto the plate. She wondered if she knew Carrot _too_ well, then, or she would have done, had the two brain cells which were awake not been engaging in a protest (cardboard signs and all) about working conditions.

The next morning, Carrot turned up outside to walk her to work. He seemed determined to act as though nothing had happened, and Angua was inclined to go along with this. They sauntered along. They took sauntering to the extreme. They meandered, they wandered, they ambled… after five minutes or so of competitive sauntering, Angua found herself walking sideways, reminiscent of one of the crabs who would have lived near the Ankh if they had no self-preservation1.

Carrot pointed out some of the features of the city, for example _that_ was the spot where Bloody Stupid Johnson had once decided to place a giant, automated corkscrew, because the bottles of wine kept getting bigger. Unfortunately the corkscrew had gone on a rampage and drilled a hole 100 metres deep before the wizards had managed to stop it2. To fill in the hole would have been too expensive, so the city decided to cover it with a nice floral tablecloth and send out rescue missions once a week for visitors to the city who had fallen down.

And _that_, well now, that was the wall where the Soul Cake Tuesday Massacre had happened. A horrible incident involving a well-armed duck and ending with a lot of smashed chocolate eggs.

And _that over there_ was a pigeon flying over them and- whoops, looked like being underneath a pigeon which needs the toilet isn't such a good idea, eh?

They reached the Pseudopolis Yard watch house with only a few awkward moments.

Angua entered first, to a couple of cautious wolf-whistles from people who had heard about the day before. Angua's bared incisors worked miracles on their memories, though, and sometimes it is necessary for one's health to forget things. This was definitely one of those times.

Word got around quickly, and nobody confronted Angua or Carrot on their way towards the canteen.

As they entered, a hush fell over the people within, followed by a loud communal chattering that practically yelled "No, we don't remember yesterday! What happened yesterday? Nothing! Please don't hurt us!"

Carrot smiled around in that genuine way that he had. It was the kind of smile a puppy would wear if it saw a huge piece of sausage3 and a tummy rub. The kind of smile Angua wished she got more often, but Carrot loved nothing more than his work.

They crossed the room to Cheery's table4 and sat down with her. She yawned widely as they greeted her.

"Late night?" Angua asked.

Cheery glanced at Carrot.

He blushed and looked away. Carrot was not a born liar. On the Disc, the Zoon tribe were notable for their absolute inability to tell lies, and thus elected a tribal liar, who showed proficiency at being able to bend the truth. Carrot was somewhere below the average Zoon in ability to tell lies.

"Yeah," she said. This seemed the safest way to buy time.

"Hang on," said Angua, pointing at Cheery's elbow. "Are they pickled figgins? Ye gods, I LOVE those."

Cheery unscrewed the jar and proffered it to Angua, who stuck her hand into the vinegar-filled jar and pulled one out before popping it into her mouth.

"Do you have any IDEA how many misunderstandings have happened when I've asked for a pickled figgin?!"

Carrot winced noticeably at this idea.

Cheery stared, slightly entranced, at Angua's chewing. There are some delicacies that only dogs can enjoy. For the most part, these include other animals' (and their own) faeces, meat that's been dead so long it's approaching life from the other direction and, as in this case, the rare Pickled Figgin.

"How come you have those?" asked Angua, her breath suddenly strong enough to corrode steel at a distance of 4 yards.

"They were at a domestic incident," said Cheery, unable to pull her eyes away from Angua's mastication5. "Then they were evidence, and now the case is closed they didn't want them any more. I was told to dispose of them, um, safely."

"How were they involved in a domestic incident?" asked Angua, pulling another out of the jar and throwing her head back before tossing it in.

"A man threatened to eat one and then kiss his wife," said Cheery. "He never got around to it though. He couldn't, um, swallow. He got the figgin in his mouth but he couldn't swallow."

Cheery reviewed the last two sentences in her head for a moment and decided she could probably have put it better.

"But his wife dragged him to the watch house and begged us to keep him in a cell for the night and get rid of the figgins lest they be used as a weapon of mass destruction."

Mesmerised, Cheery continued to watch as Angua worked her way through the jar.

"I, uh, should probably get back to work. No, no," she said, "keep the jar. Please."

"Hey, thanks!" said Angua. "I should probably get going too, actually. I've got a fair bit of paperwork to be getting on with. And I think Carrot's on the beat this morning," She looked at Carrot. "I'll see you at lunch time, probably." She said to them both.

Cheery glanced at Carrot for a moment, and noticed him gazing at Angua with a look of intense affection on his face. He often did that, Cheery had noticed, when Angua wasn't looking. He seemed to almost deliberately time it like that, so Angua didn't notice. She might not often see the expression he used when she was on his mind. It was easy to tell when Carrot was thinking of her at work, because he got that silly grin on his face, like a child who had just been told they had Six Whole Weeks off school and they didn't even have to help with the harvest.

He surely couldn't fail to notice the permeating scent of vinegar which surrounded her like an aura, but he still stared at her with a faint smile playing around the edges of his mouth.

That, she thought, was love.

1 While the Ankh carries many, many diseases and parasites, it is true that it does not have crabs.

2 They took their time, not wanting to damage it. If anyone had need of a giant corkscrew, it was the wizards.

3 Of course, there are some occasions where the 'huge piece of sausage' is unfortunately attached to the owner who has just got out of the shower. A moment of silence for all those unfortunates.

4 Often, Cheery was avoided by other members of the watch, not because she was dislikeable but because she had a tendency to bring forensics to the table, and there are few things less appetite-inducing than a man's pickled Figgins* sitting next to you while you eat.

*Pickled Figgins are indeed disgusting. Why on Disc would you want to put small raisin-filled pastries in vinegar? Positively vomit-inducing.

5 Yes, I do mean mastication. No, it's not dirty.


End file.
